Sunday, May 10, 2015

For
the unfamiliar, a “reveal” in screenwriting parlance is the placement
of key, revelatory information in a story. Most times, the last reveal
is the most important revelation of all.

FADE IN:

INT. GALLEY – NIGHT

ON CLEMENS, wracked by fear! He scrambles to pull his legs through.

CLEMENS Close it! Close it!

Anna and Wojchek struggle to push the door shut. SLAM! The creature strikes it from the other side, almost forcing it open again.

Everyone retreats to the center of the room. Clemens is frantically reloading his pistol, fingers fumbling to pack the powder, load the ball.

CLEMENS (CONT’D) The ice chest! Get the ice chest!

Anna and Wojchek hurry to push the heavy ICE CHEST in front of the door which continues to BUCK violently. – Clemens fi-nally gets the pistol loaded and waves them back.

CLEMENS (CONT’D) Look out!

Clemens FIRES both barrels through the door. We HEAR the creature HOWL in rage.

A momentary silence -- then we HEAR a CREAKING NOISE from the ceiling that causes the men to wheel around and traintheir weapons upwards.

THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.

We hear its heavy footfalls on the deck above.

ANNA It’s looking for a way in!

WOJCHEK Quiet, woman!

Clemens and the others plaster themselves against the walls of the cabin.THUMP. THUMP.

We hear it jump down from the deckhouse ceiling and begin to circle them.

NEW ANGLE --

Anna has inadvertently retreated to the rear of the cabin and backed up against a porthole.

CLEMENS Anna, get away from there!

Anna looks to Clemens, puzzled, but be-fore anyone has time to react -- two gaunt arms EXPLODE through the porthole and enfold her.

She SCREAMS as the arms drag her half way out the porthole. Clemens lunges after her and grabs hold of her legs.

Wojchek snatches up the pistol and with an expression of mounting rage, rushes at the window, JAMS the pistol through the gap and FIRES!

We’re rewarded with an INHUMAN SCREECHING and Anna is abruptly released. Clemens drags her back into the cabin where she collapses in his arms.

THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.

We hear the sound of the creature’s foot-falls slowly heading aft. Wojchek pans the pistol, tracking the sound through the walls.

Ka-THUMP! We hear it jump down to the Mid-deck and diminish slowly.

CLEMENS (puzzled) It’s leaving.

WOJCHEK ...going aft...

ANNA I don’t understand. It had us trapped.

Clemens glances out the porthole.

CLEMENS The sun. It fled from the light.

ANGLE THROUGH – PORTHOLE

The first dim rays are visible on the horizon.From THE LAST VOYAGE OF THE DEMETER, script by Bragi Schut

Q – So, the Nicholl script, SEASON OF THE WITCH, was eventually produced and released in 2010. Can you give us some background on that project?

A - SEASON OF THE WITCH was a bumpy ride to production. That script traveled through a number of studios before it finally got made. It was developed over a good six-year period. I probably have some 20 different drafts on my computer. The draft that won the Nicholl was very different than the draft that was finally produced. Not so much in terms of plot, but certainly in terms of tone and characterization. Although there were some significant changes to the plot as well.

The director, Dominic Sena, just had a different vision in mind for the film, so there was a lengthy development process.

The initial idea for the script came from a scene that I saw in Bergman's movie THE SEVENTH SEAL. There's a scene in which a group of knights are transporting a woman accused of witchcraft to some village where they're going to burn her. I remember watching the scene and thinking to myself that that scene could become a whole movie of its own. And what better twist could there be than finding out that this woman whom you think, initially, is a victim, is actually a witch. That reversal, that twist, was very exciting to me… So I started to play around with the idea.

Q – So, the Nicholl win happens, and as part of the Fellowship, you are expected to write a script over the next year. What was your project?

A - I actually never got the opportunity to write a script for my follow-up year. Basically, you can't collect on the Nicholl Fellowship money if you are currently employed by studio. And in the wake of my SEASON OF THE WITCH sale, I was continually employed for the next couple years.

I remember talking to some of the other Nicholl writers, like Andrew Marlowe (AIRFORCE ONE, HOLLOW MAN, CASTLE), Ehren Kruger (THE RING, REINDEER GAMES, & the upcoming television miniseries, THE TALISMAN), and I don't believe they collected their Nicholl winnings either. So it's a good problem to have.

Q - Screenplays from 50 or 60 years ago were far different than those written today. Shots were indicated, often with camera placement and movement in extreme detail; scene action was far more detailed, and script lengths were often well above 150 pages. Since the late 1960s-early 1970s, screenplays have been getting shorter and more concise. In recent years this trend has even gone to a kind of minimalist style referred to as “haiku.” I’ve heard respected professionals refer to “100 as the new 120” for page length. Has this impacted your approach to your writing? And what do you think of the trend as far as finding writing assignments and/or getting your “spec scripts” read?

A - We know each other as screenplay collectors, so you know I'm a fan of those older scripts as well, and I've read a number of them. I refer to them frequently and I love that older format. I try to bring a touch of that to my own material. You can't take it quite as far as they used to in the old days because modern readers expect a different format, but I find it intriguing. It's another tool we can use as writers: format. I'm writing a period piece war movie right now and I'm referring to a lot of older scripts like THE GREAT ESCAPE, THE DIRTY DOZEN, and THE BRIDGE ON THE RIVER KWAI for inspiration. In some ways, that older format lends itself to the material. But I just finished a big science fiction assignment and I would never use that format for something like that.

I think the writer has latitude to do what they want with the format. If you compare somebody like Walter Hill (ALIEN, SOUTHERN COMFORT) with someone like Frank Darabont (THE SHAWSHANK REDEMPTION, THE WALKING DEAD), those are two hugely different styles. And you’ve got guys like Tony Gilroy (the Jason Bourne films, NIGHTCRAWLER, STATE OF PLAY), who really mess with the format. I love reading Tony Gilroy's stuff but his format is very different.

I guess, the bottom line for me is that it still boils down to story. Story and characters. And format is just another tool we can use.

Q- At the same time that feature scripts are getting shorter, there has been a movement in television from single, stand-alone stories to over-arching meta-stories that inter-relate, and allow for far deeper character and story development. Has this moved you away from feature development, and toward small screen development, or do you try to work in both?

A- I still try to work in both. I love working in TV and I love working in features. And they're just different animals. But yes the trend for overarching meta-stories in television is very exciting. I like that term “meta-story.” I'm going to steal that.

Q - From your own experience, do you see a difference in the way a “spec script” is evaluated compared to something written on assignment? Is there more latitude given to experiment with construction and plot for one over the other?

I think they’re evaluated the same: do they work, or not? Concerning spec scripts, obviously you have a lot more freedom in the writing. An assignment has to fulfill whatever the requirements of the assignment are. But in terms of how they are evaluated, I think people hold them to the same standard: They've got to be great. They've got to be well told stories with interesting characters and captivating plots.

Q - Today we see fewer and fewer scripts getting produced that are not already a part of some franchise or adapted from a prior medium such as graphic novels, games, and traditional novels. Have you moved away from developing your own “spec” ideas and toward finding assignments and projects that are effectively already “pre-sold” because they exist in a prior medium or franchise?

A - You have to do both. The spec scripts bring the assignments in. Obviously, the assignments are great. And you're right in saying that adaptations have a much greater chance of being produced than an original spec, but creatively, the specs are important to me. Those are original ideas, which makes them, in some ways, much more personal. And even if the spec doesn't get produced, as I said, it still gets read and it will bring in work.

Lastly these things go in cycles, so I would not be surprised to see the spec market booming again. It may or may not happen in the film universe, but we're already starting to see a bit of a spec market in television. A couple of years ago that was unheard of. Now places are buying and optioning spec TV scripts. I just optioned a spec pilot to a company and we’re now packaging it. That's a relatively new development.

Q - Assuming you agree with the premise, do you see any indication, any “light” at the end of this “tunnel” Hollywood is in, producing super-hero movies to the exclusion of almost everything else unless they’ve got A-Listers (actors, directors) attached?

A - I don't think the super-hero genre is going anywhere, but I definitely see audiences looking for original stories too. Stories that are new and are not based on anything else. How else can you discover something new?

Q - SEASON OF THE WITCH and THE LAST VOYAGE OF THE DEMETER, your 2009 Blood List script (currently in development as this is written), are “period” projects, one set in Medieval Europe, and the other set in late 19th Century Europe. A commonly heard bit of advice to new writers is to avoid submitting period stories when trying to break in because they cost more and are harder to produce. Do you agree or disagree, and how?

A - I don't think I remember LAST VOYAGE OF THE DEMETER being on the Blood List. Are you sure about that? [LM - It was on the list, available here.]

Regardless, yes, there are probably smarter genres to take a crack at than period piece movies. I just have the misfortune of being passionate about stories that take place in the past sometimes. My brain just goes there. And I'm a firm believer that you have to write what excites you. That is where you will do your best work. That's not to say that I don't like writing stories in other time periods… It's more about world building for me I guess. I just love escaping from the present. Or from reality I should say.

Q - So, a moment from an Ingmar Bergman film inspired SEASON OF THE WITCH. How did LAST VOYAGE OF THE DEMETER come about?

A - I'm a huge huge fan of Ridley Scott's ALIEN, as well as [the sequel] ALIENS. I was trying to find a way to do a story like ALIEN, but different. And it's very hard to do anything in space with a creature and not be compared to ALIEN. So I started exploring other venues. At the time I was working as a model maker at Digital Domain. One of the guys in the model shop had worked on BRAM STOKER'S DRACULA. He was showing me his portfolio one day and I saw that there was a model of the ship in the portfolio.

It was a wonderful model, just beautiful... This old ship with sails covered in blood. I was just staring at this model and suddenly I saw a way to do my monster movie.

Q - You mentioned that you actually wrote LAST VOYAGE OF THE DEMETER before SEASON OF THE WITCH. A lesser-known fact about the Nicholl Fellowship is that you can’t enter a script based on material from another writer. Since DEMETER is rooted in Bram Stoker’s DRACULA, it could not be entered. (I am acutely aware of this because one of my own scripts, THE SLEEP OF REASON, which I had considered submitting to Nicholl, is also based on the Stoker novel.) Had you originally intended to enter DEMETER?

A - I actually did enter DEMETER. And I was crushed when I never heard back. It didn't even make it into the Quarterfinal round. I found out after the fact about that rule. Who knows whether that had anything to do with it or not. I'd like to think it did.

Q - Both SEASON OF THE WITCH and LAST VOYAGE OF THE DEMETER appear to arise out of situation, the former from a premise of knights transporting a woman to be judged a witch by the Church; the latter about the un-described sea voyage Count Dracula made on his trip to England in the Stoker story. Many screenwriters claim that they write from character, rather than from situation or plot. I have gone on record (in this space, and in my book on screenwriting) as saying that I prefer the situation/plot approach, but I will use whatever works, given the project, and I have. Do you prefer plot over character as a starting point?

A - That's an interesting question. I've never thought about that much. I guess if I had to analyze my own scripts, I would say that it's been a mix of plot and character. SEASON OF THE WITCH and THE LAST VOYAGE OF THE DEMETER are both clearly situational as you pointed out. But I have another spec that's kicking around right now that started with more of a character concept.

Q – Without giving too much away, I noticed that your conception of Dracula in DEMETER is far closer to his physical presence in one of the earliest versions of DRACULA, F.W. Murnau’s 1922 silent film, NOSFERATU. And he resembles the vampire (Barlow) from the 1979 version of SALEM’S LOT. But with that as a starting point, what you do with it is closer to ALIEN than it is Bela Lugosi or Christopher Lee. I loved how much mystery and menace you brought to the story. So what led to that “take” on your villain? And if you are able, can you say whether that approach is in the current production?

A - We actually struggled with that in the development of the script. Because people are so used to Dracula being personified as this learned, intellectual, conflicted passionate person. The Gary Oldman version. Or the over sexualized vampire version from the Hammer films. The tormented half man/half monster. But in Demeter I really wanted to avoid that stuff and make him this animalistic force that is feeding off the crewmembers until it reaches its ultimate destiny.

That probably comes from the fact that I really wanted to do something that was a monster movie. And to me the most primal elemental terrifying monster I could think of was something that didn't have any vestige of humanity in it. It was purely something that would devour you. Something that would eat you because it needed sustenance.

The only glimmer of humanity the creature ever shows is at the very end of the script when it comes face to face with the female crew-member. There's a moment where the creature looks at her and seems to hesitate. Her face seems to stir some dim memory in him. That moment was meant to acknowledge that there was a soul underneath all that but it was a bit of an afterthought, frankly, and doesn't fit in much with the tone of the rest of the script in which it is purely an animal.

Q - Another script you wrote, THE PASS, has a rather unusual pedigree. First, there was an historical event (commonly known as “the Dyatlov Pass incident,”) that happened in 1959, in the Ural Mountains in the former Soviet Union. A party of hikers were massacred, leaving any cause as both unexplained and extremely bizarre due to the details found on and around the bodies--they had few external injuries, but massive internal ones; they were found a fair distance away and almost naked, their clothes still back at the tent, despite the zero temperature; and there were no tracks that could be identified from would-be attackers: a great, thus-far unsolved mystery.

Recently, a film was produced and released in 2013 called DEVIL’S PASS, written by another writer (Vikram Weet), and directed by Renny Harlin that is based on the same incident, and done in the currently popular documentary-styled, “found footage” approach (Ex. - THE BLAIR WITCH PROJECT) with a character in the story shooting the film you see. Your script, also based on the incident, has a completely different, and, I would say, more unusual take on the event. But you tell the story in the more traditional, objective narrative style. Yours, then is narratively wilder without the stylistic razzle-dazzle indicated, while the produced film has a much more conventional explanation for the mystery, while using the flashier subjective camera and docu-drama narrative approach. Can you give us some background on how you came onto the project--or were the two scripts unaware of each other? What transpired? How did we end up with the film Renny Harlin directed?

A - THE PASS was a strange project. I'd been spending a lot of time on Wikipedia looking for true incidents to hang a horror film on. In particular I wanted to do an alien abduction story. But I wanted to do the scariest version of that story possible, so I went looking for an alien abduction incident that resulted in actual human deaths. And I quickly found out that there really aren't any.

They are all told by survivors. The closest that we have is the Travis Walton story which was already adapted.

So I stumbled upon the story and started to adapt it. Partway through my script, I had a call from a producer named Roy Lee who had stumbled on the same story. So instead of both of us trying to bring separate versions of the story to market, we decided to team up.

We took our script around town and discovered, ironically, that there was already another competing project out there on the same subject. There is actually a third script on the subject as well. And believe it or not, that script is written by a Nicholl writer too. We actually traded scripts out of curiosity, and their approach is equally different.

So that makes a total of four Dyatlov Pass scripts that I'm aware of. And there may be more.

I still haven't seen the Renny Harlin film. But as far as I know their approach is very different. Roy Lee and I are still trying to find a way to get THE PASS made. We've had some interest lately, so who knows. These things have a way of coming around.

Q – You were kind enough to let me read one of your unproduced (at least at this writing) scripts, a horror piece called ABOMINATION (the source story for this script was co-written with Chato Hill and the story is also the basis for a graphic novel from Bragi’s own Mythos Comics venture). If I were to try to describe it in the fashion of film-marketers, I’d say it is very loosely “DANCES WITH WOLVES meets the 1951 film THE THING FROM ANOTHER WORLD”! And since it’s not a western, nor is it a UFO story, it’s amazing that’s still apt! But it’s set during World War II in the Arctic of all places, and it involves a group of Inuit (once called Eskimos), a very fresh and unusual setting, indeed. Can you give us any background on this project?

A - ABOMINATION is a script I had a lot of fun writing. I developed it with Chato Hill, who's a great writer and a frequent collaborator and an old college friend. ABOMINATION, in my mind, is really part of a triptych. Taken with LAST VOYAGE OF THE DEMETER and SEASON OF THE WITCH, it really completes my period/monster fetish.

At least until I get the itch again…

Chato and I are having a great time with the graphic novel, because the response has been really enthusiastic. So, in a way, I feel like the movie has been made. It’s right there.

We’ve had interest from a couple of places and hopefully it will find a home at some point. But it is a bit of a tough sell. For whatever reason, Hollywood has some peculiar rules about things that will or will not succeed.

I didn't know this until somebody told me but apparently snow is not a strong selling point for movies. Sounds ludicrous. But I'm not joking. Apparently it's a rule: movies in the snow don't do well.

So we’re up against some rules like that. [Being a] period-piece, frankly, also doesn’t help us. But for every rule, something will come along and disprove it.

Q – Another script, SAMARITAN also has a “fraternal twin” in the form of a graphic novel that you produced and published through your company, Mythos. This is a dark, urban noir story, kind of a grittier, more realistic take on Frank Miller’s and Christopher Nolan’s approaches to Batman as a “Dark Knight.” What can you tell us about the gestation of that story?

A - Samaritan is a script that’s very close to me, very personal to me. Actually I wanted to direct it myself, so when I wrote it I took a very disciplined approach and made sure that I didn't let the budget out-of-control. I wanted it to be something that could be produced for a million.

The genesis of that was really the fact that my wife was pregnant with our son at the time. I had a lot of stuff kicking around my head about fatherhood and the meaning of fatherhood and whether or not I was good enough to be a dad.

And I started to realize that I wanted to become a better person for my son. And that idea was very interesting to me. The idea of a broken-down morally questionable figure, who actually learns more from his son than the son learns from him.

So that was the basis for Samaritan.

I loved the idea of a redemption story about somebody who isn't perfect but who wants to be better than he is because of how he’s seen in the eyes of someone else. #_____

I’d like to extend my thanks and appreciation to Bragi for consenting to this interview. With his embracing of theatrical, television, and the graphic print mediums, and his focus on the major genres of horror, thriller, and science fiction, arguably the most popular niches in Hollywood today, his success is an example to emulate.

FADE OUT

Quote of the Post: "That script
traveled through a number of studios before it finally got made. It was
developed over a good six-year period. I probably have some 20
different drafts on my computer. The draft that won the Nicholl was
very different than the draft that was finally produced. Not so much in
terms of plot, but certainly in terms of tone and characterization."

Thursday, May 7, 2015

For the unfamiliar, a “reveal” in screenwriting parlance is the placement of key, revelatory information in a story. Most times, the last reveal is the most important revelation of all.

FADE IN: INT. CARDINAL’S CHAMBER – NIGHT
A room with a massive domed ceiling. The
marble floors are littered with rare furs.
At one end, seated on a darkened dais surrounded by PHYSICIANS, is CARDINAL D’AMBROISE (note: in the dim light, seen only
In silhouette). DEBELZAQ Gentlemen, the Cardinal D’Ambroise. (by way of introduction) Your eminence, the Knights. The Cardinal leans forward. And as he
leans into the torchlight, we see he is
deathly pale, almost ghostlike... CARDINAL Is it true? You are called LaVey? LaVey steps forward. LAVEY Yes, but how--? CARDINAL Please! Come no closer. I am stricken. (COUGHING) The Black Death is in me. He glances sidelong at his PHYSICIANS
who are hovering just out of arm’s reach. CARDINAL Leave us. Go! PHYSICIAN But your eminence...
You grow weaker. CARDINAL (sharp) No. I die. And your
leeches and ointments
are of no use. Now go! The Physicians – they share a look. And
quickly gather their jars and medicines...
and make a general exit. Once they have
left, the Cardinal turns to LaVey. CARDINAL (CONT.) France is in the grip
of a terrible evil. The
King has fled his kingdom, and left his subjects to die— He is interrupted by a sudden COUGHING
fit, which wracks his entire body. He
tries to stifle it with a handkerchief.
When he draws his hand away, we GLIMPSE
the white silk, flecked red with blood.
CARDINAL (recovering a
bit) --it is whispered over
all the land that the
end is near, that the
hour of our judgment has
come. He looks up, as if to gauge LaVey’s reaction. But LaVey doesn’t have one. CARDINAL (CONT.) What do you believe? LAVEY That we live in dark
times. CARDINAL A guarded response. LAVEY I’m a knight, not a
priest. CARDINAL And as a knight... as a soldier of God, you
hold no belief? LAVEY What would you have me believe? The Cardinal looks to DeBelzaq, who takes
his cue and steps forward. DEBELZAQ The truth. The plague
is a curse, called up
from Hell. Brought upon us by the Black Witch. LAVEY (with a touch of surprise) ...black witch? DeBelzaq, registering the tone of LaVey’s
voice, raises an eyebrow. DEBELZAQ The charges have been
proven without question.
I myself heard the confess-- CARDINAL (a placating gesture) DeBelzaq. Please. CARDINAL (to LaVey, again) Three weeks ago a woman
was found in the forests,
wander- ing...mad, muttering strange words that none
could under- stand. She came
to a small village near
Marseille. DEBELZAQ Louresse. (darkly) That place is gone now. Wiped out by the plague. CARDINAL From there she traveled
west, from Marseille to
Avignon... and everywhere she went it was the same.
In her foot- steps followed
death. LAVEY I don’t understand. Why are you telling me this? DEBELZAQ The witch must be taken
to the abbey Severac, in
the mountains, where our Benedictine brothers are
preparing an ancient ritual to destroy her. Only there can the witch be slain and
the curse lifted. LAVEY And me? CARDINAL You... must deliver her. CLOSE ON – LAVEY His eyes darken, but he says nothing.

From SEASON OF THE WITCH, screenplay by Bragi Schut

Bragi Schut is a writer & director living in Los Angeles who has written projects for Sony, Universal, MGM, Relativity, Syfy, and CBS among many other film & television companies. His original adventure/horror script SEASON OF THE WITCH starred Nicolas Cage & Ron Perlman and was released by Relativity in 2011 grossing $92 million worldwide. Schut also created CBS’s cult alien invasion series THRESHOLD directed by David Goyer, executive produced by David Heyman, and starring Carla Gugino & Peter Dinklage. Bragi has written numerous other screenplays including horror spec THE LAST VOYAGE OF THE DEMETER at Phoenix Pictures, original sci-fi project SINGULARITY for director Roland Emmerich, comic book adaptation CRIMINAL MACABRE at Columbia for Dark Horse, and franchise adaptations of popular anime series BATTLE OF THE PLANETS for producer Chuck Roven and GAIKING for Toei and producer Gale Anne Hurd. Recently, Schut wrote sci-fi disaster tentpole INVERSION which is prepping a Spring 2016 shoot with director Scott Waugh (NEED FOR SPEED) and rewrote neo-noir script REAPER for director Brad Anderson and Amasia Ent. He is currently writing event miniseries THESEUS for Syfy, rewriting his original pilot MAGICK for Eclipse Television, and attached to direct thriller FAMILY ALBUM. Bragi, a graduate of the University of Wisconsin - Madison, was previously selected for The Academy of Motion Picture Arts & Sciences’ prestigious Nicholl Fellowship in Screenwriting Award. He was also chosen for the exclusive Writers Guild Showrunner Training Program. Q – First, give us a little more on your background: where you’re from, your interests, any writing, screenwriting, or film-making training, etc. A - I was born and raised in Brooklyn, New York but I spent some years abroad as a very young child. I lived in both Thailand and Germany. I attended LaGuardia High School of the Arts in New York City, which is the school that the old TV series Fame was based on. That was a pretty formative experience for me. That's what got me thinking seriously about a career in the arts. At LaGuardia I majored in art taking a lot of classes in watercolor, oil painting, human anatomy classes, art history, that sort of thing… But I also was reading a lot of comic books at the time and was heavily into comic art. I think in some ways that led me to my love of film. After all, comics are essentially movies in sort of a storyboard format. I still have an interest in comic books to this day, and I am partners in a small comic company called Mythos Comics. We go down to Comic Con every year and Wonder Con and put out a bunch of our own material. Q – UW-Madison doesn’t have a screenwriting or film-making program or major that I’m aware of, correct? A - Correct, UW-Madison doesn't have much of a filmmaking program. The best you could do when I attended was to major in communications and focus on filmmaking and screenwriting. But they did have a number of very good classes. There was a professor named David Bordwell. Bordwell wrote a book called Film Art, that's actually used at a lot of the bigger film schools. I heard, at one point that it was one of the text books that they used at USC and UCLA. So anyone who was serious about filmmaking at Madison tried to get into all of Bordwell's classes. Other than a couple of screenwriting classes, that was the extent of my film education. But I made it a point to read a lot of books about the trade when I got out to LA. Syd Field, Robert McKee’s “Story,” “Save The Cat,” “The Hero With A Thousand Faces,” a lot of Joseph Campbell stuff, Bruno Bettelheim, etc... It's something that I still try to do every so often. I find it helpful to continually brush up on that stuff.
Q - Prior to your breakthrough, how did you get into screenwriting, and how many scripts did you write? A - The Nicholl fellowship was really my breakthrough. I think I had written two or three scripts before the Nicholl. One of those ended up getting optioned after-the-fact. LAST VOYAGE OF THE DEMETER was actually written before SEASON OF THE WITCH. I remember there was some concern about my eligibility for the Nicholl at the time. But because of the wording of the Nicholl eligibility requirements, and because of the fact that I hadn't actually received any payment yet for LAST VOYAGE OF THE DEMETER, I was still eligible. That made all the difference. Q - Did you find representation prior to your industry break-through with the WGA and the Academy? A - Yes, I did. I was rep’d (managed) by BenderSpink. They had helped put me in touch with an agent by the name of Brant Rose. I had signed with Rose weeks before the Nicholl win, if I remember correctly. So that certainly helped put me on my agent's radar. And then, after the Nicholl win, SEASON OF THE WITCH sold. So it was sort of a one-two punch. Q – New writers are often told that querying is a waste of time, that you have to network and develop contacts and relationships to the exclusion of all else. Some advocate just focusing on getting an executive assistant job or starting in the mailroom at a major agency instead. I’ve always thought you should do all of the above, attack on a broad front. How did you connect with BenderSpink? A - I get asked that question a lot. New writers are always worried about getting an agent. And I understand it because I had the same worries. But it does take care of itself. Once you've written a number of scripts and if you keep submitting them to festivals and screenwriting competitions and friends, someone will notice it.
Agents monitor and look for talent at all of those competitions. Frankly, the competitions make their jobs easier. They do all the reading and the agents just ask for the winning scripts. You should also be giving your script to friends, colleagues, anyone you know in the business. If they like it, they’ll fight for it and pass it on... That's what happened with BenderSpink. I had written a script and given it to a bunch of my friends. One of them was an assistant at Imagine Entertainment. He liked it enough to send it to a couple of managers. I still remember that. It was an exciting moment, because I was a PA at the time sweeping the floor at the Jim Henson stages. My cell phone rang, I picked it up and it was Brian and JC Spink telling me that they had just read Demeter and liked it. Getting an agent happens a million different ways. But the bottom line is that if you’re a hard-working writer and keep writing scripts and keep pushing your material, agents will notice you. Somebody will find your material. Getting an agent isn’t the hard part. Writing ten scripts and sending them to several dozen script competitions, and not losing hope after receiving back dozens of rejection letters, is the hard part. Facing the blank page and pushing through it is the hard part. Q – Where do your writing interests lie? Specific genre(s)? Favorite films, writers, directors? A - In general, my writing interests include horror, action, science-fiction, fantasy... genre fare.... I've written one comedy. But I don't really consider that typical. I grew up in the 80s, so my list of favorite films would include things like RAIDERS OF THE LOST ARK, STAR WARS, GHOSTBUSTERS, MAD MAX, DIE HARD, THE THING, E.T., ESCAPE FROM NEW YORK, all the usual stuff that a kid in the 80s would probably have been into… That said, it's hard to have a real love of film without discovering some more obscure films. I love stumbling on obscure films that nobody's heard of, and being blown away by it. I have lists and lists of movies like that that I don't want to bore you with. Then there are films that I love for the sheer creative energy behind them. Like AMELIE, or THE ARTIST, or PAN’S LABYRINTH... Speaking of Foreign films, I have a huge love for those. SEVEN SAMURAI is one of my all-time favorites. THE WAGES OF FEAR. METROPOLIS. The list goes on and on…
Q – Besides the Nicholl Fellowship, you were selected for the Writers Guild Show-Runner Training Program. Which came first? A - The Nicholl Fellowship came first. The Show-Runner training program came in the wake of THRESHOLD (Bragi’s 2005 CBS television series). Q – Were you more interested in television or features? What, if anything specific, were your career goals? A - My interest was predominantly in features. But we live in a very interesting time right now where television has really become a sort of long-form version of film. Production values have exploded, the stories and creativity are just stunning... So I feel very fortunate to be able to play in both arenas now. # FADE OUTQuote of the Post:"I still remember that. It was an exciting moment, because I was a PA at the time sweeping the floor at the Jim Henson stages. My cell phone rang, I picked it up and it was Brian and JC Spink telling me that they had just read Demeter and liked it."Watch for Part II in a few days!

Saturday, May 2, 2015

For
the unfamiliar, a “reveal” in screenwriting parlance is the placement of key,
revelatory information in a story. Most times, the last reveal is the most
important revelation of all.

FADE IN:

INT. TOWNHOUSE DINING ROOM – DAY

Chance still watches TV as Franklin and

Hayes appear in the doorway. They are

surprised to see Chance.

FRANKLIN

...Why...
Hello, we thought

we
heard something...

(moves to Chance,

hand outstretched)

...I’m
Thomas Franklin.

Chance remains seated, takes Franklin’s

hand warmly in both of his like the

President did on TV.

CHANCE

Hello,
Thomas... I’m Chance,

The
gardener.

FRANKLIN

(a beat)

...The
gardener?

(thinks it’s a

joke, laughs)

...Yes,
of course... Mr.

Chance, this is Ms. Hayes.

Hayes moves to shake Chance’s hand.

HAYES

Mr.
Chance, I’m very pleased

to meet you.

CHANCE

(doesn’t rise,

Again shakes with

Both hands)

Yes.

Chance turns back to the TV. Hayes and

Franklin exchange looks, there is an

uneasy pause.

FRANKLIN

We’re with Franklin,

Jennings and Roberts,

the
law firm handling

the estate.

CHANCE

(a smile, totally

at ease)

Yes,
Thomas--I understand.

FRANKLIN

...Are
you waiting for

someone? An appointment?

CHANCE

I’m
waiting for my lunch.

FRANKLIN

Your
lunch? You have a

Luncheon
appointment here?

CHANCE

Louise
will bring my lunch.

FRANKLIN

Louise?...
The maid?...

(a look to Hayes)

But
she should have left

earlier
today...

CHANCE

(smiles at Hayes)

I
see...

FRANKLIN

(a beat)

All
kidding aside, Mr.

Chance, may I ask just

what
you are doing here?

CHANCE

I
live here.

Franklin stares at Chance as Hayes unzips

her briefcase.

From Jerzy Kosinski’s script
for BEING THERE, 1979

Character Interiors: Bringing the Inside Out

“Out of suffering have
emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with
scars.”

---Kahlil Gibran

“We are armed with
language adequate to describe each leaf of the field, but not to describe human
character.”

---Henry David Thoreau

“Character is what you
have left when you've lost everything you can lose.”

---Evan Esar

Is it the Chicken’s
Story or the Egg’s?

I have mentioned elsewhere in print that many writers devise their
stories from character. In other words, they have in mind a person or persons,
and from that they generate a story. An example of this would be
Paul Schrader’s screenplay for AMERICAN GIGOLO. It was the result of a
discussion on character-types held in a class he taught. The occupation of
gigolo came up. The character literally implied the story. Other examples of
this approach are historically-based bio-pics, particularly those very
loosely-based upon their source, or fictional tales like SCARFACE and FORREST
GUMP.My story, THE SLEEP OF REASON, started with a question about a character in a famous
novel. The answer to that, in turn, generated the plot.

I often prefer to have a situation, a
dilemma, or a fictional world from which to develop a character. This is
because of the character’s potential for collision
with the story, and it gets me “the biggest bang for my buck.”
So, in this approach, the situation comes first, the character second. Very
often, the environment, the situation, and the problems arising from these have
far more potential to generate interesting stories than proto-characters in
some pre-story isolation (unless they are especially unique characters such as
television’s Adrian Monk {MONK}, or Dustin Hoffman’s character, Raymond
Babbitt, in RAIN MAN). There’s an old truism that no matter where one looks in
the world, under the skin, we are all alike. If that is so, while I
admit it can and does go the other way, as a source for interesting feature-film
screenplays, I generally put my money on the problem
rather than some interesting
individual. But others prefer to find an intriguing character and see
what happens, trusting the presence of the
particular character to provide the needed audience appeal.

In my experience and observation,
generating stories out of character alone often results in forcing
the writer to settle for what I would term, routine
plots, plots overshadowed by the character’s extra-measure of razzle-dazzle.
And this is true for the Schrader film. It uses a fairly standard mystery plot,
but what interests Schrader in his film is the character, the world
of that character, the look
of that character, and the frisson he inserts at the end when the gigolo gains the
ability to love. Ultimately AMERICAN GIGOLO fails to stand out because the
story itself offers nothing sufficiently new. We’ve seen that sort of plot many
times before, despite Schrader’s injection of that character. And the look
of the film got it only so far: “all flash
and no cash,”
“all yack
and no shack.”
Also, its Bressonian inspiration is missed by almost everyone,
though, I suspect, for Schrader, that hardly mattered. FORREST GUMP achieved greater
success, I believe, because it found a profound and universal truth out of its
focus on the character, namely the values to be found in living simply, or simply
living.

But writers starting from character
generally don’t hold the same acceptance for starting from plot as I do for
their approach. They may be rationalizing that plot-based writing undermines
the truth these writers believe they are revealing
about their people. If the character is formed out of the needs of the story,
they might be arguing, the character does not have that quality of randomness
found in reality, that quality of truth that demands, “take me as I am, no
matter the result.” They seem to believe that it exudes artifice, a feeling of
having been constructed, of not being real.
I would counter that this is self-delusion: bad
stories can come out of plot, character, or the movie you saw last week, just
as easily as anywhere else. And if the story seems to them artificial and
contrived, that is not the fault of the design approach itself, but rather the
craft employed in said approach.

In comedy, character appears to be less important. It’s the jokes that
make the comedy, some believe. But the truth is that except in the rarest
cases, pure joke-only comedies don’t have the “legs” that those based in
character do. And, from Chaplin and Keaton, through W.C. Fields, and Laurel
& Hardy, and on to Woody Allen and the present, the best comedy writers
have always known this:

“The hacks who would
do The Ed Sullivan Show… and then
disappear, faded because there was no believable character behind the stories
and jokes. Their lines were funny on paper and people were laughing at the
lines because they aren’t bad. But at their best, jokes are a vehicle to
present a character.”

---Conversations with Woody Allen, p. 64.

A Servant of Two Masters

Still, many writers need to believe they
are writing people who, if they haven’t actually lived, would be able to,
should God so choose. These writers go so far as to build elaborate
back-stories for their people, filled with life experiences, set-backs, family
members, and friends. They’re given flaws to hinder them in the story, and even
flaws that have no apparent reason-for-being, except that a trivial flaw in the
character carries just the right degree of verisimilitude: “It’s there because
it’s there, not out of any story need!” cries the writer. Such flaws function
just as any extraneous details do in life: because the character is real,
not written. The flaw in Evelyn Mulwray’s iris in
CHINATOWN, for example, may appear trivial, but serves as metaphor, a more
subtle version of Achilles’ heel. Such elements offer a quality of real
life to the work. Actors love this sort of thing because it
gives them sources for the detail, the business
they bring to the individual on the page. It’s, of course, obvious, however,
that even this falls well short of creating living, breathing, human beings,
even with the actor inhabiting the role.

All of this, I would argue, is a byproduct
of the nature of cinema to create a kind of reality.
Photography captures images of reality and displays them. Cinema heightens
that, first with movement, and then with sound. But, the addition of artificial
lighting, and then image and sound editing
begins the process of deception. Artificial settings and, ultimately, story take
it the rest of the way. These are not
real events, not real
problems, not real
behaviors that have been recorded and revealed. And these are not
real people. Most films embrace this tendency
toward realism, offering stories that look
like they could have actually happened. Others make their non-realities look
that way, too, achieving a fantastic result. I have no quibble with any of
this. In fact, I, too, embrace it. I only question the belief that, out of
fidelity to them, as a writer, my highest goal ought to be to serve my
characters. My
highest goal is to serve my story,
have my characters
serve my story, and this out of fidelity to my audience.
Ultimately, then, the writer serves the audience, and this
through character serving story.
If the story serves the character, it is the tail wagging the dog.
In fact, one way to look at this dichotomy and relate it to our notion of
transformation (see my 9 articles on structure beginning here) is that while character serves story, one might ask "who or what is behind the wheel, who or what is driving?" In the beginning, story drives character. But by the end, character must drive story." The change in drivers articulates the “transformation.”

Characters Aren’t
People, Too!

Many writers believe that characters in
films can be realized as thoroughly as those in novels. On the surface it looks
so. After all, once on the screen, there they are: living, breathing, walking,
talking. The presence of the actor in the role is deceiving, however.
Characters in films are just not that well-formed. We aren’t inside
their heads, so we can’t experience the events of the film as they do. Whenever
Hollywood tries to get inside a character’s head it has the effect of pulling
us out of the story and the filmic reality,
rather than in,
making the film less realistic
instead of more.

In fact, as concerns our knowing and
understanding the people around us, neither are they
sufficiently formed and so understood in life. Does one really know his friends
enough to predict their every behavior? Does one really know
oneself? At least in novels, the writer can reveal his characters’ thoughts.
Movies “ain’t so lucky”—very often when they try, they look quaint or downright
silly: like in those old detective movies where the private eye narrates the
story: “I had to find out what was in that room. I walked in, there was a thud,
and my world started spinning. Then... darkness!”

CITIZEN KANE is a clinic
on the impossibility of understanding character: it demonstrates that no one
really knew
Charles Foster Kane, not even we, the audience, after witnessing seemingly every
relevant detail in his life. We had to be shown
the sled before even that
single relevant truth of his life became clear. And, once revealed, was even that
the pivotal insight to Kane? No, of course not! So, characters in story cannot be
real. We can only make them look that way. And when that takes precedent over
the story, itself, that’s, as we’ve said, the tail wagging the dog.

What’s the larger purpose of character in
story? We’ve seen that it is to render a kind of reality; but, why? Not because
characters are merely supposed to be real. As we’ve shown, how could they be?
But also, whyshould
they be? No, characters, despite their acknowledged prominence in stories, are
still there to serve
stories. The ones that get the most attention in the story are really just avatars
for, and representations of… theaudience!
The writer’s responsibility to his characters, must, of necessity, be
subservient to the larger story.

Writers: trust me! Once you get past the
discomfort this may be causing you, you will feel much better. It sets you
free, after all. You don’t have to artificially constrain yourself out of some
misguided sense of duty to a truth that has never, and can never exist!
Suddenly you can make your characters do and be everything you (and the story)
need of them. You’ve had no difficulty applying this notion to the events
of your story, so... have none applying it to your people!

If a Character Dies in
the Woods, Does He Make a Sound?

The question remains, then: how are
characters well-realized in film? Just as screenplays must render novel-length
stories in a third or less space than their literary cousins, characters must
be rendered in minimal yet potent detail. The notion of the iceberg-tip
is apt. Much of character development in film must be implied--there, yet below
the surface. And this is made possible by the illusion of reality created by
the presence of the living, breathing actor inhabiting the role. Screenwriter,
Stirling Silliphant (ROUTE 66, IN THE HEAT OF THE NIGHT, CHARLY) illustrates
this in his interview by William Froug in The Screenwriter Looks
at the Screenwriter, p. 318:

“...at the end (of DR. ZHIVAGO, screenplay by Robert Bolt), when
Alec Guinness is narrating and saying the government said no one was to come to
the funeral, but thousands came, you see people walking around the coffin. He’s
in the center. Julie Christie comes running across through the crowd and up to
him and she says nothing sentimental, after all they’ve been through in this
movie together. Russia has fallen. Millions have been massacred. These people
have been through hell. Her man is dead. They’ve been lovers. And she says to
the brother, ‘I knew him’ and the
brother says, ‘I know.’ And she says, ‘Can you help me?’ That’s all there is to
the scene. Tears you apart. Now that is writing... It strips down to its very
essence the emotion of the scene... That’s Hemingway’s one-eighth theory, with
seven-eighths below the surface. But to build the top of the iceberg, you’ve
got to have it afloat. And it’s in knowing what you can leave out, because you know it, that you have confidence.”

It is my belief that, with a few exceptions,
primary characters must first fit their roles reasonably. They must seem right
for the position they occupy in the story’s universe. This does not mean they
cannot have features that deviate from that requirement, but that, for
the most part, they feel right for what is or would
have been demanded of them before the potentially role-altering
events
of the story put them to the test. My exceptions to this are usually found in a
certain type of comedy, where the central character is a true fish-out-of-water,
and is totally inappropriate
for the role he/she inhabits. Primary characters need to meet their
audience’s expectations so that their suitability for their role can become a
baseline from which the dilemma of the story can challenge them.

Most of what become your characters must, of necessity, be left implied.
They are people that the audience, itself, is left to build. What is unseen and
unknown about them becomes chosen and assigned them by the people watching them
and identifying with them. In truth we know them no better than we know the
trees we grew up climbing as kids: we know the branches we can depend upon, the
best limb from which to hang a swing, but of the tree itself? What can we
really know? So, if a character dies in the woods, does he make a sound? Even
Bernie Bernbaum (John Turturro, MILLER’S CROSSING) never knew.

Do Tell

But, returning to that allusion to the
iceberg, realism, immediacy, and space constrictions demand that character be
revealed only as the result of the business of, and events in, the story.
Therefore, it must be accomplished through some few telling-details,
details that imply a whole lot more
where they came from. A great example of this is found in Francis Ford
Coppola’s film and screenplay, THE CONVERSATION. Gene Hackman’s character,
Harry Caul, a freelance intelligence operative who eavesdrops electronically on
people and companies for hire has a solitary hobby of playing a jazz saxophone.
It has the effect of accentuating his utter loneliness, especially at the end
when he sits in his living room playing for no one. Around him, his house has
been gutted to the beams themselves--he’s searched in vain for a bug he fears
is eavesdropping, now, on him.
His trade is sound, so his deepest self emerges as sound. Even his name,
Caul--a covering of an infant’s head from the amnion at birth--offers comment on
his character: hidden, unaware, sightless. Another example would be in Colin
Higgins’s film and screenplay, HAROLD AND MAUDE, where both Harold and Maude
attend strangers’ funerals for their own reasons, and Harold repeatedly fakes
suicide for his mother as a last-ditch bid to awaken and win back her dormant
love. These are telling
and behavioral
details.

I should also note that I use the term,
“behavior,” to include dialogue and its performance, as long as they meet those
internal story needs. As such, this would include examples such as: the behavior
of the characters of Radar and Lt. Col. Blake in the original film, M*A*S*H,
when they talk over one another to the effect of drowning each other out; the
character of Woodcock in BUTCH CASSIDY AND THE SUNDANCE KID when he
successively, at each new train robbery, re-warns the Hole-in-the-Wall gang of
his empowerment by “E.H. Harriman of the Union Pacific Railroad” while standing
inside the railcar even as
they blow the door. Details all, these add to each character, informing us and
providing signatures
of who and what kind of people they are.

Detail is the currency
of character in cinema. It has the great power to inform us with sufficient
information to know what is most important about them. The mirrored sunglasses
of the head-guard overseeing the chain-gang in COOL HAND LUKE say in a glance
all we need to know about him: if the eyes are the windows to the soul, he’s
unreadable, emotionless, heartless, without
a soul, the embodiment of “the system.” The stapler that the character of
Milton covets in OFFICE SPACE tells us everything we need to know to understand
him: it’s one of the most trivial items
in any workspace, a tool many of which are known to be poorly designed and
prone to jamming. So Milton’s obsession with keeping his Swingline illustrates
how powerless he is in controlling the things in his world. Even popcorn movies
like the Indiana Jones films use detail effectively: Indy hates snakes, yet his
weapon of choice is a snake-like
whip, allowing him some measure of control and mastery over the thing he fears
most. A telling detail
can render people with amazing facility. But, when it comes to detail, less
is more.

Speaking in Tongue

A common criticism of characters in the
works of new writers is that they all talk
in one voice. To most critics this means there is no discernible difference
between otherwise different characters. They use similar words, similar rhythms
in their speech, and they sometimes even hold similar values despite their
opposing roles. Writers can spot this in their writing by listening to their
dialogue in performance. Most will be amazed at how it sounds
as compared to how it seemed
when played only inside their own heads. I strongly recommend writers do a table-reading
of the script with actors (or at least vocalize their scripts’ dialogue aloud)
before the script goes out. This is an important and necessary step in the
review process, and no effort is truly complete until it has been performed.

Put it on the Resumé

Other criticisms include the catch-all
that the work “needs more character-development.” Having read a great deal of
story analysis over the years, I have found that very often, this criticism is
reader-shorthand for, “something’s missing, but I don’t know what it is.” The
critical reader may be inept or he fails to connect
with the piece for any number of reasons from personal taste to a bad hair day.
Some inexperienced analysts look for novelistic characters in screenplays, not
allowing for the effect the direction, the editing, the actors and their
performances, the visual behavior and the telling-detail all eventually bring to the synergy
within the film. So, pointed toward their characters by the analyst without a clue,
writers evaluate their people and naturally discover that more can be said
about them. Really, now: is that ever not true? Nevertheless, they consider the problem,
and decide to put in exposition introducing back-story. This is intended to
fill out and explain the character’s mysteries, to serve as motivation
for them, to give them elaborate resumés, all in the belief that this will
bring them to life. Instead it has the opposite effect. It slows the story
down, and it very often trivializes the characters it is meant to support. This
is because the manner of how the events from the back-story affected them deep
down inside has not
been revealed, only the events themselves, reducing the characters to
psychological stereotypes. Knowing that “his father beat him” only gets us so
far in understanding someone. As concerns childhood trauma, having
“lived it” beats having “heard about it” by a Mississippi-mile, what with all
the twists and turns such a thing could take. And yet, characters still need to
have a past: history, experiences, and details that define them and make them
unique. The art lies in “telling” us just enough and no more.

So, character development does not come
from a laundry list of experiences or accomplishments. It comes from something
else. It comes, first from some telling detail(s) out of their past, and then,
as we’ve said, from behavior,
and behavior underpressure:
what they do and how
they do it when it matters most.
This we can see. This we can understand. This we can feel.
Why? Well, because our own imaginations, experiences, and empathy fill in the
remaining details. For in that moment, by manifesting that behavior, they
embody a potential us.
And placed in a great story, they do it better than we ever could.

Stress Out

Character development grows in direct
correlation to the degree to which your character is under duress. How that
character behaves when the stakes are high reveals more about him or her than
any exposition could ever do. When the bullets start to fly and the allies have
all deserted him, does he stay
or does he go?
If he stays, how
does he stay? Does he take the fight to the enemy, or does he dig in and cover
up? If he takes the offensive, how? What is his unique action? What does this say about him? Is he thinking or
panicked? If panicked, does he finally rise above it or freeze? And on it goes.
How that character acts under those stressful circumstances is all the character
development that may be necessary.

History is rife with stories of little
guys emerging out of the ranks, taking the initiative, and winning the day,
while some big, strong, loud-mouth cowers in the foxhole. Acts
define us, not words. Have your characters act
rather than wait and react.
Have them take
the initiative rather than receive it. The old saying that the best defense is
a good offense is truer in movies than it is in football. The hero needs to
stay a step ahead of the audience to keep them watching, and that generally
means taking the fight to the enemy. When Warren Beatty, in THE PARALLAX VIEW,
tries to join the shadow agency killing government leaders and witnesses in
order to stop them from killing him, he isn’t waiting for their next move
against him, he’s going after them first. As George C. Scott said in PATTON,
“If you put your hand...
into some goo...
that a moment before was your best buddy’s face...
you’ll know what to do.”

It’s been said, too, that a person’s
“character” is proved by what he does when nobody’s looking. That kind of private
behavior, also used sparingly, can become another powerful technique for
achieving development in your stories’ characters. For the writer, fortunately,
the audience is looking.
The writer is free to reveal all manner of private behavior: Paul Newman as Lou
Harper in HARPER, re-using the coffee and filter from his trash; Robert DeNiro
as Travis Bickle in TAXI DRIVER staring at himself in the mirror, taking up the
challenge posed by his mirror-self, and saying, “You talkin’ to Me?”;
Cary Grant, in HOLIDAY, alone, doing back-flips in a hallway for the sheer joy
of it; Al Pacino, in INSOMNIA, as that legendary hero-cop, covering up the
evidence after accidentally killing his own man because he broke police
procedure. By its unseen
nature, it has the power to render character in dramatic, humorous, explicit
and sometimes unflattering ways. By its unseen
nature it carries a quality or imprimatur
of honesty, genuineness, an authenticity that brings the audience within the
character’s inner circle, a confidante now, even a kind of ally. Thus won, the
audience has become an advocate, and the character’s development is completed. #

“You cannot dream
yourself into a character; you must hammer and forge yourself one.”

Screenwriters and storytellers have been looking for deeper insight to their craft for years. Nothing truly new has been written in decades... until now. "Lateral Thinking" is a process for generating creative solutions to real-world problems. Coined by author and business consultant, Edward de Bono, it has helped the left-brain worlds of business and government to revolutionize, achieving unheard-of success. Lee Matthias returns this concept to its origins, the right-brain world of creative expression. Not another "how-to" on writing for Hollywood, this book decodes the creative process itself, applying it to storytelling in general and screenwriting in particular. LATERAL SCREENWRITING is packed with ideas, examples, stories, and the genius of the world's greatest filmmakers. Rather than re-hashing a thousand other works on the "how" of screenwriting, this book helps writers find their best ideas toward writing the greatest movies never-yet-made.

The theft of an unusual pocket-watch brings famed magician, Harry Houdini, together with the world's foremost consulting detective, Sherlock Holmes. When it leads to the appearance of a mysterious locked strong-box, it becomes a case that rocks the British Empire to its core.

A period feast, filled with luminaries of the era, bursting with the raucous energy of a time when the world was throwing off the romanticism of the Victorian Age for the power and dangerous potential of science, new philosophies, and the machine.

Sherlock Holmes is at his peak. The brash, young Houdini challenges all who stand in his way. And Watson, Holmes's chronicler and friend, returns us to a time when the gas was always lit, the Persian slipper always filled with shag, and the game was, once again, and at long last... afoot.

Kobo E-Book Coupons!!!

Aisle Seat Books

I've just published three "novels" of my screenplays, THE JUPE,FOE, and THE SLEEP OF REASON. These are part of a new effort to put the best new un-produced screenplays before you as movie-length novels. Now you can "read a movie" in about the same amount of time as it would take to see the film. The publisher is Aisle Seat Books. Check them out!

FOE

In a near-future world shattered by an alien invasion, a lone Special Ops soldier, unaware that he's the key to victory, stumbles on a group of disabled military vets holding their abandoned VA Hospital as the invaders lay siege.

THE SLEEP OF REASON

After his bride disappears on their European honeymoon, Richard Renfield traces her to a castle ruin in the Carpathian mountains, and confronts its undead inhabitants, determined to restore her to life and bring her home. An apocalyptic war of Good versus Evil.

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About Me

I am a writer with four published novels, others on the way, a nonfiction book, several screenplays written and in development. During and after college, I worked as a theater projectionist and manager, in public relations, and as a literary agent selling to publishers and producers. Two heads are better than one, so I keep a human skull on my desk for inspiration (and a second opinion--FWIW, he's dead-on). I currently work as a computer network administrator in government. I'm married and the father of two daughters.
“I’m a computer professional: I don’t lie, I manage information.”
Get in touch: LateralTao ( followed by the encircled "a" symbol, followed by the 5-letter name for the Google mail client, and then the period symbol followed by the usual 3-letter start to "communication") Now THAT oughta confuse the spambots out there.